


The Guest

by Mello_McQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-03
Updated: 2009-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mello_McQueen/pseuds/Mello_McQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is always he who takes the initiative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guest

**Author's Note:**

> written at: April 3, 2009.

**The Guest**

When Draco leaves his rooms, each night, he is careful to leave the door slightly ajar, and each night when he returns, he examines it. Examines the way it has been pulled firmly closed, and spelled shut. This spell is special, Draco knows, as he reaches towards the door that is resistant to the touch of another. In his hand, the knob turns; with barely a sound the door slides open and Draco slips inside.

It’s dark here, silent, but the window is open, curtains fluttering softly in the night air, and light from the moon seeps inside, silhouetting his guest sitting cross-legged, there, at the foot of his bed. Suppressing a sigh of relief, Draco moves forward without a word. Standing at the foot of the bed, he slowly kicks off his shoes and sighs as a warm hand reaches up to run calloused fingers along his arm.

At the touch, electricity sparks beneath his skin, and every hair on Draco’s body stands on end. Slowly, the hand moves to cup the back of his neck, and he allows himself to be pulled gently down onto the bed. Beneath him, his guest smiles, leaning up, to brush wind chapped lips along his jaw-line: the sensation feels somehow off.

Distantly, then, Draco remembers that he hasn’t shaved today and finds himself wishing vainly that he had as the lips are removed and strong fingers twist themselves into the coarse hair at the nap of his neck. The other hand, which has remained stationary next to Draco’s thigh moves then, stroking his cheek and the short prickly hairs along the side of his face.

Draco sighs and leans softly into the touch, inhaling deeply through his nose. The heady smell of earth and sweat seems out of place in the immaculately clean space, but Draco knows that it, like that other musty smell, will be gone in the morning, along with the bed sheets and his phantom guest.

It’s reassuring, but not entirely pleasing, to him and so he knows it’s best not to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down and snaps open the top button on his pressed and ironed shirt, and lets his eyes flutter shut when those lips find his, moving against them in a careful, but eager way. When the kiss ends, the closeness stays and Draco feels the tip of a tongue run, moist and abrasive, against his bottom lip.

Then the tongue is pulled away and the closeness is gone. Draco opens his eyes, upon hearing that familiar soft sigh and looks down at the form below him, studying it, trying to memorize the details of a face he’s seen every day, for ten straight months, out of every year for the last six.

It’s not the same face, he thinks, watching as closed eyes flutter open slowly and a soft smile adorns rough features. “Hello, Draco.” Draco’s guest greets, speaking for the first time in a voice that is content if slightly breathless.

Draco takes his cue, and shifts on the mattress, leaning hesitantly forward, and smiles.

“Hello, Harry.” He answers, before breaching the distance between them once again.

**End**


End file.
